


Pride Cometh Before

by Verbana



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bottoming, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealous Arthur, Jealousy, M/M, Magic Revealed, Morgana is the devil wearing Prada, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbana/pseuds/Verbana
Summary: Part of Merlin cringed at the thought of Morgana's reaction. So, she had never explicitly said, "Don't have sex with Arthur without me," but he doubted she would be completely indifferent to Arthur fucking Merlin on her office desk.Merlin thinks he has it made as the personal assistant and part-time lover of the gorgeous Morgana Lefay. Then Arthur enters their lives and Merlin’s certainty about what he really wants begins to erode. (eventual Merlin/Arthur)





	Pride Cometh Before

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after watching just the first season, before getting the reveal that Morgana and Arthur were half-siblings. So, you can imagine, as I do, that this is an alternate universe where they are not related...or if incest is hot for you, then, yes, they are absolutely brother and sister.
> 
> Also, a warning that this is hasn’t been Brit-picked, although _all_ the British slang is packed into it. My six months working at a village pub near Guildford on a student visa were inadequate for developing a perfect ear so I’m sure there are plenty of American spellings and odd phrases poking out here.

The first time Merlin met Morgana, he nearly fell into a potted plant—a leggy looking philohedron that really could have used a trim. He had a brief vision of landing with a twig up one nostril, piercing his brain. Somehow he managed to swing his weight backward and shuffle into an awkward arm-flailing recovery.

"Gravity's a bitch," Morgana said in a voice as smooth as whipped vanilla frappuccino.

Her long dark brown hair rippled like something out of a Howard Pyle inking. Her full mouth slid into a lush smirk. Her cool eyes raked him up and down.

"Ah," he stumbled. "I'm Merlin. They assigned me to show you to your office." He passed both hands over his shirt to straighten it. No one had told him the guest art director would be a supermodel.

"Ears," she said. "You must be the gopher."

"Basically, yeah." Merlin exerted great mental strain, trying to flatten his ears against his head. "I fetch coffee and all that." He knew he should have grown his hair out.

"Do." Morgana smiled.

"Er, coffee?"

"Grow your hair out. It would become you." She squinted and tilted her head. "And stop wearing dress shirts tucked into your trousers. You look like ridiculous."

"Ah, yes." Merlin flushed and squared his shoulders. "Come this way, Miss Lefay."

Her stilettos clicked like knives on the smooth floor. She walked beside him, refusing to be led. Her scent pulled at him like a physical grip, cinnamon and spices, dark and heady. Merlin kept his head turned away to avoid her eyes and almost walked into a support beam. Morgana yanked him out of the way at the last moment with sharp, efficient tug. Her scarlet nails barely scraped his wrist.

"Concrete is also a bitch," she said, guiding him around the pillar before releasing him. "I suggest you avoid contact with it, Mr. Merlin, at least at high speeds."

"Thanks," Merlin stuttered. He ran both hands over his hair nervously. "The office is—"

"Obviously," Morgana interrupted.

"What?" Merlin's head spun. Surely she couldn't just know these things.

Morgana curved her lips in a sideways smile full of measure. "Obviously, you need someone to look after you, Merlin."

-

Somehow, every time he brought coffee into a meeting with Morgana, she kept him there, listening to different proposals, examining storyboards and sketches. "What do you think, Mr. Merlin?" Perhaps she didn't even know his last name, but he doubted it. He didn't know much about the whole business, so he just said what he honestly thought of the designs and Morgana nodded and listened. So did everyone else.

It got to the point where she called secretaries to bring him in, even in the middle of sorting through mail or answering phones. When summons came from Morgana Lefay, the world stopped to bend to her will. "She's done work for Calvin Klein and Ang Lee. I even heard she consulted with Peter Jackson on the Hobbit films," Will boasted.

"You're pissed," Merlin muttered.

"I'm not!" Will frowned. "Well, maybe a bit. Didn't get home till... Well, I don't actually remember how I got home. Those Jaeger bombs are stayers."

"I don't want to know," Merlin said, locking briefings into neat laminated covers. "And stop drinking that shit. It marks you as a supremely low lifeform."

"Fuck you," Will said offhand. "I hoped being Lefay's pet would loosen you up, but your arse is still as tight as a gherkin jar."

Merlin was about to demand an explanation for that statement, but just then, a harried-looking secretary turned him around and dragged him into Morgana's office.

-

"What do you see in your future, Merlin?" Morgana asked. She wore a satiny frock the color of deep water that clung to her shoulders and framed her generous breasts. Merlin tried hard to tear his eyes away from them, round and heavy as over-ripe fruit. They locked onto him like a force-field.

"Um, I'm thinking about some uni classes in design," he choked, "maybe architecture."

Morgana picked up a silver ballpoint and rolled it through her fingers. "Yeah, that's not what I see."

"Oh?" Merlin swallowed.

"I see you coming to work for me, as my assistant." She touched the pen to her bottom lip. "I see your hair getting a little long and shaggy, your skin improving, you wearing sneakers and jeans. I see you arranging my schedule, making my calls, and cleaning up my problems."

Merlin's gaze went from her chest to her mouth. "Ah, yeah. I can see that."

"Good. You'll start on Monday." She tossed a set of keys at him. "You'll be at my flat at seven to pick me up. We'll go down to Albion Studios and kick some life into that fucking graveyard."

"Um." Merlin poked at the wreath of shiny keys. "I don't actually have a car."

-

Merlin's life turned into a blur of Morgana and her world. He moved out of his cramped residence on Gaius's couch and into her guestroom. He drove her around in her shiny little coup. His morning started with getting her caffeine, picking out her outfits and often ended with helping her into bed. She liked to stay out late at clubs and parties, surrounded by a glittering crowd. Merlin slept through the weekends, unless Morgana kicked him out of bed for extra hours.

One Saturday night at Moxtown he stood around in a corner while she talked and flirted with Lady GaGa and posse. Morgana was drinking Blue Icicles and kept flicking her hand at Merlin to get another from the bar. After the fourth one, he wandered back towards his corner.

"Hey," someone said at his shoulder.

Merlin turned to meet the soft gaze of a pretty girl with dark curls. "Hey."

"You look a bit lonely here," she called over the music. "Would you like to dance?"

Merlin hesitated for a moment, but the silvery ring of Morgana's laugh cut through the noise. "Yeah, actually I would."

They both moved a bit awkwardly, afraid to touch too much, but Merlin felt himself grinning back into the girl's bashful smile.

"I'm Gwen," she shouted into his ear.

He bent over her shoulder. "Merlin."

"What?" she said.

He started to lean into her ear again but a hand grabbed his upper arm. Merlin's head whipped around to meet Morgana's face. The green and purple lights reflected in her shining eyes. She had that smoldering, predatory look that he saw her use on particularly reluctant clients. He let go of Gwen's hands and let Morgana lead him off the dance floor. Looking back, he tried to mouth, "I'm sorry," to Gwen, but the mass of dancers blocked out her small, still form.

"What?" he hissed at Morgana. His mind spun with guilt and anger and confusion...and running through it all: an inopportune crackle of excitement.

"I need you," Morgana said. "Alone." She pulled him into the hallway by the bathrooms and through a door marked Staff Only.

Merlin nearly tripped over a stack of cardboard boxes. He snorted when she pushed him up against the wall. "You need...?"

Morgana tilted her head and leaned into him, her mouth just centimeters from his face. "I need." Her long hands worked up under his shirt and stroked his belly. Merlin shuddered with a sudden rush of arousal. He sucked in her breaths, tasting the alcohol, shaking. She smiled slowly, lips still parted, the tip of her tongue against her teeth. Her eyes locked on his, drinking up everything.

Merlin tentatively raised a hand to touch her hair, wavy and sleek as running water. She laughed low and rich. He felt her fingers nimbly unbutton his trousers, then slide down to grip his straining erection. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut. Morgana licked his eyelids. Her hand moved in fast, sure strokes, hot and rough and brilliant. Firecracker lights sputtered over Merlin's vision. He tried to kiss her mouth and she ducked away, laughing again. Her long neck curved toward him and she kissed and licked his right ear, tracing the shell of it, nibbling on the edge. Her thumb rubbed over the slit on his cock and his knees started to give out.

"Merlin," she whispered, breath searing his ear. "Come."

He did, vision hollowing out into a tunnel. Angels sang. His legs collapsed. For a moment there, he thought he might actually die. And what a way to go.

-

"You're special, Merlin," Morgana told him one night as she fastened her earrings in front of the mirror. "You just haven't realized it yet.

"I hope by 'special' you mean gifted, and not 'special needs,'" Merlin said. He held a pair of shoes in each hand for her to examine.

"Gifts," Morgana said. She flicked one earring and it swung in a lacy gold arc. "Do you remember when we met? You almost obliterated a shrub."

"Uh, yeah." It was not in his top ten moments.

"How do you think you recovered from that stumble?" She picked up a jar of glossy pink bath pearls and turned it over in her hands.

"I dunno. I got my balance I guess."

"Perhaps," Morgana said. She dropped the jar and didn't even watch it shatter on the floor.

Merlin jumped a little, still clutching the shoes. He stared as the tiny pink orbs rolled merrily into every crack and corner.

"Really, Merlin. We need to work on your reactions," Morgana chided. "Well, clean it up already."

Merlin gaped for a moment, but Morgana never turned away from the mirror. She lifted a dish of powder and dabbed at her face.

"Right then..." And he went for a broom.

-

Despite all the chaos in her life, Morgana retained order by sticking to odd routines. She always shopped for Jimmy Choo before a big screening, always took long baths on sunny afternoons, always worked on sketches with both shoes off and Depeche Mode or The Smiths on the stereo. She never spent less than forty-seven minutes dressing herself in the morning and always checked her reflection in the mirror sx times before she left the house. She had a different coffee for every day of the week (except on Wednesdays when she drank a green tea latte). She only plucked her eyebrows on a full moon and only fucked Merlin when she drank Blue Icicles.

Four days after the incident at the club, she took Merlin to a cocktail bar, sucked down a few of the icy blue drinks and pulled him out the door, when he got a very fast but lovely blowjob on the back seat. Back at the flat, she brought him into the shower with her and Merlin rubbed shampoo into the dark tendrils of hair that clung to her long back, pointing down to her hips and buttocks.

Water chased the suds off her head, down her back and endless, pale legs. She turned and pulled his hands to the small of her back. "Be good now, Merlin." One leg lifted to curl over his hip. "Stay on your feet if you can manage it." Merlin's ears started to roar with blood. The other leg came up to wrap around his back.

Morgana purred. "There's a good lad."

Merlin locked his thin arms like railway tracks, closed his eyes, and prayed for strength. 

-

Naturally, Merlin didn't think much in the long term about consequences and such. Career be damned, he was making a gorgeous woman on an almost weekly basis (depending on her alcohol cravings). To increase his chances, he learned to mix Blue Icicles himself, although Morgana often chuckled and turned him down when he offered to shake one up for her.

He worked hard to keep her happy. She didn't have any obvious friends, and though she had charmed an army of admirers, she kept her affairs discreet. Directors and designers and CEOs raved about her "vision" in film and commercials. She had an uncanny instinct for picking the best designs or tweaking art to fit a project. At least one prominent cinematographer called her his "secret muse" and Stella McCartney called at least every other week for a fashion consult. 

Morgana was working on a television project at the time, looking at set designs with glossy photos hung about her flat. She was in a bit of a tiff and had Merlin working on a Saturday, which had him in a tiff because he was missing a football game with Will in order to listen to Morgana rage about design budgets.

The doorbell rang and Merlin went to answer it, stretching his stiff limbs. Morgana remained bent over the table, still scowling at sketches of staircases.

"It's Arthur," the speaker buzzed. "Let me in."

Morgana straightened and transformed with sudden glee. "Oh, brilliant! Let him up, Merlin dear."

The visitor was a young man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a face to rival Morgana's. The straps of his backpack pulled his white shirt tight over muscled shoulders.. His loose, worn trousers hugged him in all the right angles. He narrowed his eyes briefly at Merlin then looked past him completely to fasten on Morgana.

She rose out of her chair, loose and elegant in her designer slacks and tank top. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. How lovely to see you, darling, crawling back once more."

"You know I'm only here for Father," Arthur grumbled. "He said you were looking for a photographer." He lifted his arms in a gesture of futility. "God forbid that I let you two down in any way."

Feeling a bit blinded by a double dose of superhuman beauty, Merlin blinked and tittered, "Can I get you some coffee? Tea?"

Arthur glared at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Ears," Morgana said. "But his hair is growing out, finally. It looks quite nice, doesn't it?"

"I see you're dotty as ever," Arthur said. "At least your last lap-warmer was attractive."

Merlin's fists clenched and Morgana said, "_ Arthur _," in a wounded voice. She put an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Look at this throat, these beautiful eyes, these delicious cheekbones." She tapped Merlin's temple. "Smile for us, darling."

To his abject humiliation, Merlin felt his cheek muscles tightening and his lips lifting. Whether it looked more like a grin or a grimace, he couldn't tell, but Arthur's snort of amusement didn't bode well.

"Looks like you've got yourself a well-trained monkey," Arthur said, sneering.

Morgana crossed to Arthur ran a hand over his bright hair and down his cheek. "Jealousy will give you wrinkles." She traced the curve of his jaw and pressed her index finger against his lips.

"Er, I'll just be going then," Merlin said, quickly looking for an exit. Of course, Morgana had other, much better-looking lovers that he just didn’t know about. He cast wildly about for his jacket.

"Don't be foolish," Morgana trilled. "Arthur and I only fuck on holidays. We both find our family unbearable."

Merlin froze and studied them. Morgana wore a completely self-satisfied smirk while Arthur scowled back at her with thunderclouds in his eyes.

"Well, today is International Day for the Preservation of the Ozone Layer," Merlin chirped at last. "That's a holiday if I ever heard of one."

Morgana let out a peal of laughter. Arthur's face scrunched dramatically, as if he were struggling against himself, his mouth twisting into a tortured shape.

"This is why I adore you," Morgana said. "He's totally right, Arthur. Put your bags over there so we can celebrate the holiday in style."

Arthur shrugged off his back pack and tossed it on top off his duffle near the door. "Where's the goddamn shower?"

When Arthur disappeared into the bathroom, Morgana dragged Merlin into the kitchen.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"He's...very angry," Merlin decided.

"Oh no, that's just for show," Morgana explained. "He's quite fuckable, isn't he?"

"Well, ridiculously good-looking," Merlin admitted. "How do you know him?"

Morgana flicked her fingers. "Family connections. It's all very ancient and boring. He's like a brother to me. A brother with a magnificent cock."

Merlin coughed a little, just from habit. He doubted Morgana could shock him anymore.

But when Arthur emerged, all damp hair and smelling oddly of Merlin's shampoo, Morgana nudged Merlin's shoulder. "I'll bring out the beer and keep him distracted. Why don't you go mix us some Blue Icicles?"

Merlin walked into the kitchen, reeling with confusion. He reached for the liquor bottles and they seemed to leap into his hands. For a moment his paused with the cool glass of the vodka bottle soothing his palm. But he dismissed it all as nerves. He plunked two cocktail glasses on the bar, poured the liquors into a shaker with ice and tried to listen to the voices in the other room over the rattle of the drink.

"I thought I was here for work," Arthur complained.

"You're here for me," Morgana said, and Merlin couldn't hear any more after that. He poured the drinks tossed the shaker in the sink and dashed out into the living room. He had planned to deposit the drinks and retreat to his room but Morgana crossed one leg over the other and pointed to the Italian leather chair.

"Arthur was just telling me about the wonders of Istanbul," she said. "He spent two months there, smoking hashish and touring brothels, I expect."

"No, that was you in year nine," Arthur shot back. "I just met the people and took photos." He drained his bottle in one gulp and reached for another.

"Ah, yes, roaming the world on Daddy's euros."

"I suppose the weather's quite nice," Merlin said quickly, sensing a sudden rise in pressure. "Good for a holiday."

"Oh, shut it," Arthur grumbled, tipping his second bottle back.

"Merlin, why don't you go back and make some more drinks," Morgana said. Her glass was only half empty and Merlin hadn't touched his.

He padded into the kitchen and rested his head against the cool metal of the refrigerator for several minutes. _ I mustn't pummel someone I just met _ , he reminded himself. _ Mum would not approve. _ Usually he could manage rude people, but Arthur's arrogant, film-star face kept him itchy and unsettled.

When he returned with two more glasses, Morgana was straddling Arthur on the sofa, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Eh, goodnight then," Merlin said, trying to pull his eyes away from the sight of Morgana's top riding up her back and Arthur's golden chest emerging under her quick fingers. Merlin had never considered himself queer at all (although there was that one time with Will and the eight pints of Guinness and the skinny dipping and the plastic duck...plus a rather prolonged crush on Christian Bale—but who didn't have a thing for Batman? And yeah, he wasn't much for football or rugby or cricket but he did like the excitement of watching those fast, strong, athletic lads battle it out, all sweaty and wild...)

"Merlin," Morgana drew his name out like smoke. "Merlin, sit down."

So, of course he did, like a good little trained monkey, in the Italian leather armchair next to the couch where Morgana was currently pulling Arthur's shirt over his head. She kept kissing his mouth, deep and messy, then drawing away to look at him again. Arthur's lips were red and wet, his eyes half-lidded. He didn't seem the slightest bit aware of Merlin's presence. At first Arthur only watched her, only kissing her back when she moved in. But gradually he grew more impatient, rolling his hips beneath her, trying to pull her down.

Morgana laughed and extracted herself from his arms, standing to pick up one of the cocktail glasses. She sipped her drink and gazed down at Arthur sprawled on the sofa. He hissed between his teeth. "_ You _."

Morgana rolled her neck and drained the remains of the glass in one gulp. "Let's go to the bedroom, boys."

It didn't take any thought for Merlin to follow her, but he did cast a glance back at Arthur slumped on the cushions with his arms crossed sullenly and his glorious hair sticking up at odd angles.

"Don't pout, Arthur," Morgana said without looking at him.

The walls of her bedroom held no art, just closets with dresses and shoes. She had a blown glass ball hanging in a hemp net above her oak vanity stand. It reflected three sisters in the panels of the mirror. Morgana's bed was big enough for a small family to live in quite comfortably. The full green cushions and gauzy drapes reeked of luxury and comfort.

"Take off your clothes," Morgana ordered.

Merlin had stripped here before, but right then he was acutely aware of Arthur in the next room. He slipped off his socks and pulled his jumper over his head. As he unfastened his belt, he looked up to see Arthur standing in the doorway. Arthur leaned against the frame, shirt open, mouth dark and swollen. Merlin swallowed, felt the flush of hot blood under his skin. His turned his back and pushed his trousers down. Arthur's eyes sent prickles up his spine with awful little sparks.

"Lie on the bed," Morgana said.

He lowered himself onto the sleek covers, let his head fall back on a pillow, closed his eyes. Footsteps approached. Then the cool touch of Morgana's hands slid over the arches of his feet. Her fingers trailed a long, chill path up the insides of his legs. The tender ends of her hair touched his thighs and he opened his eyes to look into her smokey gaze. She lowered her head to kiss his hip. Merlin's sight flew to Arthur, much closer now, standing a few meters from the bed with a blank, observing gaze.

Morgana's tongue touched Merlin through his boxers and he nearly lifted off the mattress. It never ceased to amaze him, the electricity in her body. She pushed the band of his boxers down and he lifted his hips so she could slide them off. "Mmmh," Morgana breathed. She liked to draw it out, so he thanked the gods when she finally closed a hand around his hardness and sucked the tip into her mouth.

Arthur made a sound, but Merlin could hardly hear over the rush of heat in his head. "Yes," he gasped. "Ah, yes."

Morgana teased the side of his cock with her tongue, slid her fingers slowly around the base, as though to let go. Merlin groaned screwed his eyes shut again, the muscles in his bunched and strained, hopeless against her touch. The wet brush of her tongue shot up through him.

A low gasp sounded beside him and Merlin turned wild, blurry eyes to Arthur, now sitting on the bed with him. Merlin panted and writhed as Morgana sucked him in deep. His cock nudged the back of her throat. He met Arthur's wide, glassy gaze, smelled sweat and hunger. Merlin let his head fall back.

Lips touched his bare chest. A tongue circled his nipple and teeth scraped his sternum. Merlin whimpered and bit his lip with the effort of staying, of not coming right then. Arthur started sucking a line up to his throat. Merlin dug a hand in Arthur's hair and urged him up, reveling in the feel of that mouth in the hollow under his jaw.

And then Morgana hummed deep in her throat and the vibrations sent him over the edge. He was jerking and coming and pushing both hands through Arthur's hair, stupid, gorgeous, fucking Arthur Pendragon who just leaned back and watched him with blazing blue eyes.

Several minutes later, Merlin came out of his boneless blissed-out coma when the bed started to rock again and he realized Morgana was riding Arthur into the mattress. Merlin rolled away from them, but Morgana started to make little shrieking gasps and Arthur was saying, "Fuck, fuck this. I fucking hate you...aah...god."

"Harder," Morgana hissed.

So Merlin had to look again and see Morgana sans pants astride Arthur, her head and shoulders thrown back, long hair rolling against her arms. Her tank top and bra strap were pulled off one shoulder. The milky white edge of her left breast taunted him. Arthur's trousers were still on, just pushed down his hips a bit. His bare chest shone in the weak light. His hands twisted fistfuls of the bed covers. His mouth fell open, sucking in air. With every thrust of his hips, his neck tightened and curved into a bow as his head pushed back into the pillow. Merlin was transfixed by the jut of his collar bones and adam's apple, the flexing of his muscled stomach.

Arthur groaned and slumped back into the bed, still breathing hard. Morgana growled and dug her fingernails into his hips. "That was rather anti-climatic."

"Speak for yourself," Arthur returned sleepily.

Morgana's eyes drifted to Merlin, specifically to his lower regions where his hand had closed around a happy new erection at some undefined time.

Lifting one leg, Morgana dismounted sharply and Arthur grimaced. Morgana crawled like cats stalk birds, slow and dangerous across the bed. "Nice to see you up again, Merlin."

-

In the morning, Merlin found Arthur curled up on the couch, a knitted throw barely covering his naked chest. Merlin gulped and padded into the kitchen to make Morgana's Second Sunday routine (omelette with chives, blue cheese, green onions, and anchovies; buttered toast; black coffee with cream; and four large segments of orange).

He made himself the same (with ham instead of anchovies) and set a plate for Arthur as well. When the other man finally did stumble into the kitchen Merlin was sucking down the remainder of the orange and paused with the tail end of one piece sticking out between his lips. He nearly choked trying to swallow it.

"Uh, coffee?" Arthur asked, ducking his head.

"Yeah," Merlin poured him a cup and they went through the milk-sugar-creamer routine before they ran out of words.

"Cheers," Arthur said, curling a hand around his mug.

"No worries," Merlin returned. "Omelette?"

They got a little more conversation out of what went into the omelettes and then fell into discussing Morgana's odd meal requests and Merlin started into a story about the time he fucked up her coffee four times on his first day and then rushed into a meeting with the perfected cup only to launch it into the chest of a producer.

"And I was just standing there staring at this massive stain and he was howling like a banshee and yanking the shirt back like that would help anything and Morgana just put down her laser pointer and said, 'That's actually a lovely color for you, Fred. Makes your eyes pop."

Arthur sniggered and covered his mouth to keep the food in. He was huffing and snorting and holding one hand out for silence. Merlin grinned so hard his eyes nearly shut. Swallowing, Arthur looked up, wiped his watery eyes. Merlin raised an eyebrow and they both cracked up again.

Arthur just sat there and smiled at him and looked away and smiled again and Merlin felt himself blushing and couldn't understand why. He looked down at his coffee and wondered if sex had driven off the prat from the night before. Perhaps Merlin had the miraculous ability to cure prattishness with his naked body.

"So," Arthur said. "You're her live-in love slave."

"No," Morgana said, strolling into the kitchen. "Merlin is my personal assistant. _ You _ are our love slave."

She wore a sleeveless silver Clu dress that dipped generously to showcase her cleavage. Her masses of glossy hair were pinned with a huge hand-carved hair clip but the wavy ends trickled out.

"I'm your photographer," Arthur said firmly. "If you want to shag, that's fine. But it's got nothing to do with love...or slavery."

"Whatever you say, darling," Morgana replied airily, winking at Merlin.

-

It seemed Arthur had returned from his big back-packing trip of Europe and Western Asia quite penniless and out of favor with his father. When his dad suggested a job with Morgana, Arthur reluctantly took the offer. He accompanied Morgana and Merlin on shoots and talked with Morgana about the lighting. He walked around the city and snapped "candid life" shots for her inspiration. Morgana flipped through them like a deck of cards and singled out a few with potential as Arthur watched, fuming.

Athur liked to take candid photos. Merlin lost count of the times he caught a flash in the corner of his eye and jerked around to see Arthur ever-so-casually slipping his camera out of view. Merlin could rant until he went hoarse and Arthur just pretended he didn't understand what Merlin meant. "I'm a photographer and an observer of life. It's not _ my _ fault that you're bumbling about in the background." Morgana just rolled her eyes when Arthur snapped photos of her. But she always looked gorgeous and therefore had nothing to worry about.

Arthur shared the big bed at nights but returned to the couch every morning. Merlin got sick of stumbling over his shit all the time and ordered him into guest bedroom. Merlin spent most nights in Morgana's bed those days, and when she did kick him out, he took the sofa.

It made for awkward times when they both met in the guest bedroom and Merlin took to changing his clothes in the broom closet. Yeah, so he had orgies with the guy almost every night, but there was something intimate about walking in on Arthur stretched across the bed, clicking through images on his laptop, his face soft and relaxed. One glance up at Merlin and he closed up again.

Merlin reminded himself, "I have sucked this man's penis while boning Morgana and somehow succeeded at both. I have nothing to fear." But there was a difference between Arthur in bedroom with his eager hands and lush mouth, his lust-dark eyes and sweaty hair, and Arthur outside the bedroom who chewed his lip when reading and cradled his camera like a baby and made pancakes with chocolate chips, like Merlin hadn't eaten since he was nine.

So one night when Morgana said, "Arthur is going to fuck you up the arse," Merlin only meeped once and got on the bed. Morgana had used a strap-on with him a few times, so he knew it wasn't all pain and suffering, but still...anal was weird.

"No fucking way," Arthur said. "I don't fancy that in the least." But he was rolling his bottom lip in and out with that fevered, desperate look.

Morgana just laughed and handed him a bottle of lube.

Kneeling on the bed, Merlin felt Arthur's hands hesitant on his hips, thumbs rubbing the lines of the bones there. "You're really okay with this?" Arthur breathed.

"Yeah, I mean, whatever," Merlin said rather shakily. His heart started to pound like a fist inside his chest. Arthur's fingers slicked with lube felt nothing like Morgana's dildo. They were warm and flexed inside him with calluses and blunt nails. He shuddered and Arthur paused.

"No, it's alright," Merlin gasped. God help him if he wasn't fourteen shades of red.

"Get on with it," Morgana ordered.

So Arthur did. Merlin lowered his head and forced himself to relax, but Arthur turned him on his back, lifted one of his thighs and managed to push in. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek at the intrusion. It was strange and awkward and Merlin didn't know what to do with any of his limbs. Arthur just breathed fast and stared at him like a wild-eyed rabbit.

"Put your leg over his shoulder," Morgana directed.

And they shuffled a bit and Merlin did—and oh, that angle was interesting. Arthur made a sobbing noise and rocked into him. Merlin relaxed his tense arse muscles and enjoyed the view of Arthur looking like some idiot monk experiencing a heavenly revelation.

The rhythm increased and Merlin found that by bracing himself with his elbows, he could control the movement to some degree. Arthur grabbed the front of his other thigh and pulled him closer. Merlin liked the friction, the heat of Arthur's cock through the condom. He liked the noises Arthur made, the ripple of his muscles, the ecstasy rolling off his features. He liked the sparks racing up his spine every time Arthur got the angle right and now his skin was too hot, too sensitive and he could hear needy sounds breaking out of his throat.

Arthur was glowing like some pagan god, radiant and feral. The room blurred and swirled on him. Arthur's head snapped back and he growled a profanity. He fell back on hands and finally collapsed to the side.

Merlin could still barely see, but he knew one thing: he was still hard and Arthur wasn't.

"Really, Arthur," Morgana tutted. "You're rather pants at this whole love slave job, aren't you?"

Arthur wheezed something that Merlin couldn't hear.

Merlin started to sit up but Morgana's hand on his chest pushed him down again. "Who said you were done?" She rolled a condom down his erection and climbed on, pushing her skirt over his thighs.

Of course, Merlin was far too close to the edge and he came like a bullet, so Morgana yanked him up and made him lick her until she finally got off, muttering all the while about the uselessness of men.

-

While Morgana slept, Merlin went into the kitchen for paracetamol and a glass of water. Arthur, dressed only in his boxers with a fleece blanket draped over his shoulders was stirring a steaming mug and brooding into its depths.

"Hey," Merlin said. "Had a bad dream?"

Arthur looked up and sort of shrugged the blanket off his shoulders but it caught between his back and the counter, like a crumpled banner.

"Uh, sorry about all that," Arthur mumbled.

"All what?"

Arthur shrugged emphatically and flapped his hands toward Morgana's bedroom as though performing interpretive dance.

"What, buggering me?"

Arthur coughed. "Well, I got carried away and didn't, uh, wank you off or anything."

"So what, you owe me an orgasm?" Merlin said, and he couldn't believe he was flirting like this. "You want to put it on your tab and let it collect interest?"

Arthur grinned and put down his mug. "Are you suggesting I pay out now?"

"Only if you've got the coin," Merlin shot back, leaning on the stove. Sweat gathered on his back and under his arms.

Arthur stalked over, dropping his head from side to side as though to size Merlin up. "Thirty seconds," he said.

"Oh ho," Merlin crowed. "Yeah, that's about as long as_ you _lasted."

Arthur knelt down, still looking up into Merlin's eyes. He licked his lips and pushed down Merlin's boxers. His mouth was just as hot and wet as Morgana's...but he had no idea how to suck cock, much to Merlin's amusement and he fumbled with it, trying to keep it from going too far, but not able to get much in. Merlin could have taunted him, but why throw this opportunity away? Instead, Merlin guided Arthur with his hands and murmured encouragements and gasps of "yeah, there, jesus, that's ace, keep at it." So it did probably last more than thirty seconds, but neither of them was counting.

Afterwards, Arthur went to the couch and Merlin crawled back into Morgana's huge bed. Guilt slithered around his head. Morgana hummed something at him, half asleep and stroked the pillow beside him. "Stay here," she murmured, "Ears."

-

"Where are you off to?" Arthur demanded, cornering Merlin at the door. "Fetching more hair products and tampons?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "It's my day off, you daft prick. I'm going out for once."

"To get your hair products and tampons," Arthur finished with a smirk.

Merlin might have risen to the bait, but his mobile hummed in his pocket and he clapped a hand on it. "I'm meeting a mate at the cinema, if you must know, and I'm already late. So, much as I'll miss your razor-keen wit, I really must go."

"What film? Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants VI?" Arthur jabbed, following him out the door.

"The fact that you even know the title of that picture makes me wonder."

Somehow Arthur ended up walking alongside Merlin as he texted a reply to Will's query of "WHERE IS UR SKINNY ARSE, U SKINNY ARSE?" Merlin kept shooting sideways looks at Arthur who had his eyes averted, obviously fascinated by the movement of traffic and the pigeons pecking around rubbish bins.

They ducked into Knightsbridge station and caught the eastbound train. Arthur plunked down next to Merlin and stretched one long arm along the back of the seat. Merlin wanted to say something like "Can't abide to be without me, eh?" but an inexplicable fear rose in him at the thought of Arthur's answer, that he might shame Arthur away. And every time the train lurched his shoulder bumped against Arthur's in a friendly sort of nudge and Arthur's knee brushed his and Merlin really shouldn't be thinking about it so much.

He tried to drift his gaze over the array of other commuters in the reserved manner of never meeting eyes or focusing more than a moment on the women in headscarves or the kids with ipods. Arthur's face kept flaring in his peripherals, his nose and the edge of the bright fringe dusting his temples. Merlin found himself biting his mouth for some reason, rolling the inside of his bottom lip between his incisors.

They met Will at a dodgy little pub down the street from the cinema. His first words on seeing Arthur were, "Brought a blond Barbie doll with you? Is he anatomically correct?"

"Will," Merlin started. "Ah, this is Arthur he's...a flatmate of mine."

"I'd be a Ken doll," Arthur said, "not a Barbie. And I do have all my bits."

"I thought you lived with Lefay," Will said.

"Yeah...it's a bit complicated." Merlin coughed and looked towards the bar. "Shall I bring another round then?"

"I am not some idiot doll," Arthur declared.

Merlin bolted for the barman as Arthur launched into a lecture on the difficulty level of Cambridge exams and Will made pithy comments about posh layabout lads. When he returned with three pints of lager, they had moved on to a different pissing match.

"I've known Merlin since he was running around starkers on the front lawn," Will said, rather loudly. "Year eleven, actually."

"Oi," Merlin protested. "There was beer involved."

"You wanted to swim naked in my mum's koi pond."

"That was your idea!"

"You swatted me with a plastic duck," Will continued. "And then you tickled me in strange places."

"Beer," Merlin said again, flushing. "Lots of beer and energy drinks and licorice. And you had no trouble defending yourself. I distinctly remember being bludgeoned with a pond skimmer."

"Tickled where?" Arthur demanded, but they both ignored him in favor of flicking beer suds at each other.

Will and Arthur seemed set on mutual feelings of dislike until they launched into a competitive re-telling of uni capers. Will's stories had grown to monstrous proportions over the years: bicycles transformed into motorbikes and low cut B-cups changed to DD bikinis. Arthur countered with some impressive gems of his own, including one involving raspberry vodka, condom balloons, elk antlers, pistachio ice cream, and half the Cambridge Ladies' Equestrian Club.

The three of them drank too much, laughed like lunatics, and missed the film entirely. Eventually they stumbled out onto the street. Will waved goodbye and started off for his station in the wrong direction. Arthur slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders as though to guide him, but only made them both sway and stumble more.

A drop of rain plopped against Merlin's nose and ran across his lips. The formerly soft mist accelerated to a full-on downpour. Merlin laughed, reveling in the feel of the water on his scalp. Arthur huffed and shook the rain off his face. Merlin watched his profile, all damp, flushed and shining with liquid. But Arthur's gaze was turned away from him, focused on the drab figure of a girl hurrying up the street toward them. Her shoulders hunched inward and she held a limp newspaper over her head.

Arthur let go of Merlin and caught the girl by the arm. He pulled off his jacket and put it over her head, like a veil. Then he guided her around the side of a building and under an awning beside a dumpster. Merlin followed, his buzz fading.

"Thanks," the girl gasped. "I thought I might be able to salvage my face, but I doubt the hair could be saved, right?" Her mascara ran in puddles around her eyes and her dark tendrils of hair sagged like dying worms, but she was pretty and familiar in a way that tugged at Merlin.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

The girl smiled and looked down. "Ah, we danced for a moment at Moxtown a few weeks ago...before your girlfriend came. Merlin, right?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, and the guilt came creeping back. "Sorry about that. She's not my girlfriend, really. She's more like my boss, but she gets a bit possessive, you know?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't bother trying to explain Morgana. Merlin, are you going to introduce me?"

"Right." The bottom of Merlin's stomach started to drop. "This is my...this is Arthur. Arthur, this is, uh..." He shivered with the cold, his hands numb and awkward.

"Gwen," she supplied, grinning.

"Pleased to meet you," Arthur said. He took the hand she offered and kissed it briefly.

Merlin snorted and looked away.

"I was actually on my way to a job interview," she said, tucking her hands into her coat. "But I missed the train and slipped on the stairs coming up." She showed them the large muddy stain on her skirt. "Then it started pouring and now I look like something dragged out of a bog."

"Just call and reschedule," Arthur said.

Gwen's face crumpled. "I would, but they've got sixty other applicants to screen and I only got in through a random drawing this time and the letter made it clear that they won't make an exception for any of us."

So they took her for tea and biscuits and learned that she worked at a shopping centre for ghastly wages selling cheap clothing and all she wanted was a decent job at a library or bookshop or as a nanny, perhaps.

Merlin wanted to dislike Gwen for her lovely eyes and gentle voice and the way Arthur fussed over her, but he knew from the first moment he saw her in the club that she was a good, beautiful person.

They gave her their numbers and sent her home in a cab and promised to meet again. And then Arthur pulled Merlin into the loo and licked the biscuit crumbs off his face and the rainwater still clinging to the hollows above his collarbones. So Merlin forgot about the whole Gwen-hand-kissing thing. His head knocked against the wall and he came fast and hard with Arthur's teeth against his neck and Arthur's hand down his trousers and his own hand rubbing Arthur through his jeans.

-

Morgana took off for a retreat reserved for "Women in Power" and left Merlin behind with nothing to do but clean the flat and organise her office. So he didn't object much when Arthur invited him out to a gallery in Chelsea. It turned out to be a rather small, unpretentious little place with a lot of amateur photography.

Merlin wandered about, admiring faces in black and white, trees and newsprint, and the sweeping curves of cathedral arches. He stopped at a picture of a vendor at a mobile booth, probably a stall on Whitechapel or thereabouts. The man had dark skin and a lined face. He leaned over the counter, framed by LED screens and SIM cards and dangled a frayed yo-yo to a frowning child sitting on the kerb below. The sweep of the man's arm, the unselfconscious angle of his face, and the scowl on the child's all stood out against the blur of technology. Merlin found himself stopping and staring to take it all in and keep it, this sensation of wonder.

Arthur coughed a little beside him, so Merlin glanced down at the credits under the picture so they could move on. He gasped and looked at Arthur, who was determinedly examining the photos to his left.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Merlin demanded.

"What?" Arthur feigned confusion, but his red cheeks and barely-suppressed smile gave him away. "Oh, that? It's nothing really. Honorable Mention, that's all."

"It's brilliant, you tosser, and you know it." Merlin pushed his shoulder. "We need to go somewhere and celebrate."

They bought a basket of chips and ate them on a bench outside, quickly before the chill November air stole away the heat. Every time their fingers met, they pretended to fight over the chip, or Arthur would make a comment about Merlin's weight and the light in his face made Merlin's pulse flutter foolishly.

"Does Morgana know about it?" Merlin asked.

The muscles in Arthur's jaw tightened. "Of course. Every picture she picks ends up winning. She knows these things, more than I do. And yet I'm the one taking the pictures!"

Merlin rolled a burnt chip between his fingers. "You know she has a gift. You two grew up together, right?"

"Morgana's father and mine were mates since college. Her dad died in an automobile collision when she was eleven and she came to live with us, somehow." Arthur's chin wrinkled when his lips twisted. "We never got on well. Yeah, I was a spoiled brat, two years younger, but she was worse. She would dress up in these tarty outfits, even as a kid. It was weird. Especially with Dad. They fought constantly and sometimes he would take her into his office and 'teach her a lesson' which didn't sound strange to me at the time, but now...well, it's creepy, right?"

Merlin frowned. "Right."

"And then she was constantly starting rows with me, mocking everything I did, everything I said. I hated her with a passion."

Merlin watched his breath rise in thin curls of cloud. He looked at Arthur's tensed shoulders and tried for levity. "I thought you two fucked on holidays?"

Arthur lifted both eyebrows. "It is possible to despise and loathe someone and still want to shag them senseless. How else can you explain Megyn Kelly, Angelina Jolie, and Simon Cowell?"

"You want to shag Simon?" Merlin asked, thinking _ I like Angelina Jolie _.

"Focus, Merlin. You're missing the point by several miles."

Merlin tore himself away from a vision of Simon Cowell's eyebrows. "So you did have sex with Morgana...before we met, I mean."

"Christmas when I was fifteen, she had me in the kitchen while everyone was out. I thought it was crazy and brilliant and all she said was, "I suppose you're a man now, Arty-boy. Run along and tell your mates."

Merlin chuckled a little but Arthur shot him an icy look.

"She left home at seventeen, just took off and somehow she rose to the top like cream. People just wanted her. Me, I finish college and go to Cambridge. I argue once with Dad and suddenly I'm on the street, a homeless gigolo."

"No," Merlin said. "You're a love slave, really. Not a very good one, but you're making a go of it, yeah?"

"You're _ so _uplifting," Arthur drawled, but he was fighting a grin.

Merlin licked the salt off his fingers, his eyes locked on Arthur's. His heart wouldn't stop nudging against his ribs. He stood up and tossed the greasy carton into a rubbish bin. Arthur rose and started to move, so Merlin followed him. They walked in silence for some time, winding down streets. Men stood on ladders stringing white lights on trees.

Arthur trotted through a zebra crossing, ignoring the oncoming traffic. Merlin stood on the other side, baffled by the nonchalance of Londoners in life-and-death situations. Time after time he expected a hurried crossing to end in bloodshed but the pedestrians here seemed to navigate streets like bats with sonar, narrowly avoiding oncoming death.

Arthur turned and looked back at him. "Come on, don't be a pansy."

"I'll come when the traffic stops," Merlin said.

"Shall I hold your hand?" Arthur teased. He started to walk back across. The roar of a motorbike filled Merlin's ears. Time didn't slow, but something inside Merlin sped up and a surge of energy clicked at a mechanism in his head. Arthur lunged backwards as though yanked by a rope. The motorbike sped by with nary a screech of brakes.

Arthur picked himself up and stared around. "What was that?"

Merlin shivered. A car zoomed between them. Arthur kept looking about him, as though searching for someone. A small group of people had gathered behind him, waiting to cross. "Did anyone pull me back?" Arthur asked them. They shook their heads.

Merlin got a chance to cross and took it. "You bloody idiot," he growled at Arthur. "You weren't even paying attention."

Arthur looked a little dazed. "I could have sworn that someone pushed me back...but they must have pulled... It's strange."

"Yeah." Merlin kept moving. His limbs tingled with little shocks—remnants of that adrenalin rush, most likely. His head felt high and light.

They walked around Green Park, nearly empty of tourists at this time of year. Merlin liked the maples because they reminded him of home: scrambling up scaly trunks with Will and hiding from his mum in the thick branches. All the lounge chairs had disappeared with the end of summer, so they sat on the grass and watched joggers and couples with Starbucks cups weave around the paths.

Merlin's hand started to curl around Arthur's arm so subtly that it shocked him to feel the warm muscle under Arthur's red jacket. Arthur's face turned towards him and Merlin thought, _ I should let go _, but his hand only slid farther down to Arthur's wrist so that the insides of their arms pressed together. And then his face was tilting in towards Arthur's and he told himself to stop, but Arthur's lips parted so near and it felt like fighting deep water. 

_ Gravity's a bitch _, Merlin thought.

He had never kissed Arthur on the mouth before, Merlin realized. It was strange and exhilarating in a backwards sort of way. Arthur's mouth felt so much larger and firmer than Morgana's, but also tentative like she had never been. Arthur's chapped lips, the cautious touch of his tongue—these undid Merlin and he pushed himself closer, nearly into Arthur's lap. Arthur's head tilted and he lapped at the sides of Merlin's mouth, growling a little. Merlin hiccupped a laugh. He covered the back of Arthur's neck with one hand, rubbing it like a soft pelt. Arthur exhaled harshly into his mouth and Merlin felt himself sinking into Arthur like warm sand, pushing him down into the dry grass. He twisted both hands into Arthur's hair, his glorious hair and focused simply on kissing Arthur from every available angle. He didn't even feel the cold any more.

A damp touch swiped over the small of his back where his shirt and coat had ridden up. For a moment Merlin thought, _ that's nice _ , then, _ what the hell? _ Because even Arthur wasn't that flexible. He tensed as two very definite paws scrambled against his back.

Merlin sat up, only to get a thorough face-cleaning from a chocolate labrador.

"Maurice!" shrieked an elderly lady from the path. "Come, Maurice! Come this very instant!"

Arthur spasmed with laughter. Merlin scrambled away from him, face flaming. He had somehow forgotten their very public location as he was writhing all over Arthur—Arthur, who wouldn't stop laughing or make any move to get up out of his sprawl on the lawn. "Alright then," Merlin grumbled, watching the dog race back to its embarrassed owner.

"You could have told me you were already seeing someone," Arthur said. "Although I think Maurice is alright with us, judging by the way he snogged you." He chuckled at his own brilliance.

"Well, maybe I'll just trot off with Maurice then," Merlin said acidly. "He'll show me a good time, I expect."

Arthur sat up, eyes narrowing despite his smile. "I'll show you a good time, you tart."

"Yeah?" Merlin gave him a skeptical look. "Can you lick my back like he does?"

"Merlin," Arthur said, rising slowly. "We've got three blissful days until the witch returns. I'm going to lick every centimeter of you by then."

-

Part of Merlin cringed at the thought of Morgana's reaction. So, she had never explicitly said, "Don't have sex with Arthur without me," but he doubted she would be completely indifferent to Arthur fucking Merlin on her office desk.

He had always known that Arthur had an arrogant drive to be perfect at everything. So it didn't really surprise him that with a little practice Arthur had become very skilled at sex with another man. And they practiced a lot.

Merlin knew by now that Arthur had a fetish for his neck, sucking and biting at the skin and tendons until Merlin looked like the victim of an octopus strangler the next day. Arthur knew all his weak points—the sensitive insides of his arms, his ears, the pulse point under his jaw... On his own part, Merlin had developed a fascination with Arthur's soft hair and his hot mouth and his muscled arse.

Pushed up on Morgana's teakwood desk with his legs locked around Arthur's back, one heel digging into that fantastic arse, and both hands in Arthur's hair, Merlin forgot anything else existed. Arthur's leisurely thrusts had accelerated to a frantic rhythm when Merlin moaned into his ear. "You want her to walk in here. You want her to see us fucking...here, like animals."

Arthur hissed and bit the joining of Merlin's shoulder and neck. Merlin's blunt nails dug into his scalp. Merlin jerked up to meet him, gasping, "Do it...fuck, yes."

After the flood of endorphins faded away, Merlin felt bruises forming on the back of his head where he had smacked it mindlessly into the desk. So he got on top of Arthur for the next round, in the leather armchair. They got it to recline to the right angle where Merlin could control the movement and watch Arthur thrash beneath him, glassy-eyed. Arthur's hands clutched at the leather and then scrambled at Merlin's sweaty hips as Merlin rocked slowly into the hard point of his cock. Merlin bit his lip and his head fell back. The ceiling and its light fixture blurred and swayed above him. He didn't dare look back at Arthur, so close to the edge already.

"Merlin," Arthur gasped, "Merlin, I can't..."

Merlin whined in the back of his throat. He slid one hand up the slope of Arthur's shoulder, along the damp path of his throat to the side of his face. The heat of Arthur's skin seemed to fuse into Merlin's fingers until he couldn't feel where he began and Arthur ended. Arthur's breath seared against his thumb. Merlin's head rolled forward and he looked at Arthur's flushed face, his panting mouth, his eyes dark and huge. Merlin came hard with a snap of electricity up his spine. He slumped forward.

Arthur growled and grabbed him by the hips, turned him around and pushed them both down to the floor. Merlin managed to support himself on his elbows before Arthur thrust in again and drove fast and sloppy. Merlin felt wrung out but still hyper-sensitive, leaning into each thrust with murmured encouragement: "That's right, fuck me, take it all, you're a fucking god."

In the shower, still aching and exhausted, they just washed and soaped and snogged a little and there may have been some stroking of slick backs and thighs and Arthur's hair was lovely, even wet and hanging in his eyes. So Merlin got rather hard and then Arthur shared his situation so it was only efficient that they rubbed them off together with Arthur's big hand around both their cocks and Arthur's mouth on Merlin's neck, raising welts on top of the welts he had already made.

And after they ate a supper of crisps and curry, they found they'd both recovered enough strength to do it on the guestroom bed, which was oddly slow and intimate. Arthur sucked on Merlin's fingers, one by one and Merlin (who had sworn that his arse could only take so much damage in one day) said something horribly filthy like "Get the fuck inside me right now." But Arthur took his time, pushing his fingers in and out of Merlin's already sore passage until Merlin was babbling curses at him. Then he pinned Merlin's wrists to the bed and fucked him slowly. His unbearably prattish smirk disappeared when Merlin slung both ankles over his shoulders, and Jesus, that angle was brilliant.

_ You’re beautiful, you’re so fucking beautiful. _ He’s babbling now. Arthur sobs, his eyes wide and black rimmed with blue. His hair clumps with sweat, sticks to his forehead.

"You...you are..." Arthur stutters, abandoning his slow rhythm to frantic rutting.

"Yeah," Merlin says, voice breaking. "I know."

-

Driving Morgana back from Heathrow, Merlin found the conversation had dried up. He turned on the radio and Morgana turned it off without a word. Merlin felt her eyes on him like a glaring sun. She couldn’t possibly know, except maybe she did.

“I’ve missed you,” she said.

“Eh?” He nearly swerved into a post box.

“It’s strange for me to spend so many hours without you,” she explained. “You add such balance to my life. I can’t remember how I functioned before we met.”

“You didn’t have a P.A.,” he said weakly.

“I didn’t have you.”

Merlin swallowed and focused on driving between the lines.

Back at the flat, Morgana dumped her bags, ordered Merlin to unpack, and opened her mobile to determine Arthur’s whereabouts. When he didn’t answer the rings, she stalked about the flat and shut herself in the office. Merlin put away the contents of the Louis Vuitton cases, started a load of laundry, and put the kettle on.

When Arthur snuck in hours later, Morgana was ready to pounce.

“Bedroom,” she said.

“Arthur stopped halfway through the door, scowling. “Piss off. I don’t have time for your games.” He shut the door behind him. Merlin felt the electricity prior to a storm crackle in the space between them.

“I see you have much better things to do,” Morgana said crisply.

“No, I have much better _ people _ to do,” Arthur shot back. “It’s not very hard to find some.”

Morgana stepped behind Merlin and curled her hands over his shoulders, massaging the muscles there. Merlin gave Arthur a muddled look. “I suppose I’ll just enjoy Merlin tonight,” Morgana purred. “Come along, lovely. We’ll get reacquainted after our separation.”

Arthur made a sort of shocked snarl and went for the guestroom as Morgana pulled Merlin into the bedroom. By the time she had undressed him, Arthur entered the room, body stiff with tension.

“Sit down,” Morgana said.

Arthur’s hands clenched and unclenched.

“Get my special case, Merlin.”

Merlin opened the armoire and slide the polka-dot Hello Kitty box off the top shelf. Arthur sat in the chair, watching him. Sweat started to slick Merlin’s underarms and back. What toys did she fancy today? He handed her the box and watched her lift the lid.

Morgana pulled out a pair of flimsy handcuffs, the kind that were pretty and shiny but had chains as slim as a necklace. She offered them to Merlin with both hands. “Put them on and lock yourself to the bed.”

Merlin look the cuffs from her and felt the meager weight of them. They felt cool and smooth and barely there.

“Don’t,” Arthur said, suddenly and roughly. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“But he wants to,” Morgana countered. “Merlin wants to be here and he wants to be in my bed. We take care of each other.”

“He doesn’t need you to take care of him,” Arthur growled.

Morgana walked straight to Arthur and pushed a hand into his chest. “You _ always _ try to take what’s mine. You think you deserve someone like Merlin? What the fuck have you ever done, you pretentious piece of shit? Are you going to give him a place to live, a car to drive, a life without worries?” Her nails pressed dents into the fabric of his shirt. “Keep your hands off him.”

Arthur’s face darkened. “Are you even listening to yourself? Merlin is not a toy you can take out and play with whenever you want. He is not a pet you can train and command. I can’t even believe he’s put up with you this long.”

Merlin stared between them, numb and pained. He didn’t want to be here. He dropped the handcuffs on the floor and turned away. He walked into the kitchen. He sat in one of the barstools and set his face in his hands. His mind churned with indecision.

The sound of raised voices and banging door echoed through the flat. It was quiet for a long time. Morgana did not emerge from her silent room but there was plenty of noise from Arthur’s.

Finally, Arthur’s door flew open and he strode out with the huge backpack he had arrived with, hastily packed. He walked over to Merlin and threw his bag on the counter.

“Where?” Merlin asked, feeling his eyes burn.

“I’ll crash with a mate, or at a hostel. I have a little money,” Arthur said. His face was red and his voice was strained. “She’s right that I don’t have a home or a car. I don’t have much right now.”

Merlin tried to read his expression. Was he sad? Angry? Desperate?

Arthur ducked his head. “It may be stupid to even consider, but...well, I thought you might want to come with me…or something in that way…” His chest moved rapidly with each breath.

Merlin squinted at him, confused.

Arthur seemed to take his silence as refusal. “Or not, whatever.” Now he was clearly angry, defensive, and unwilling to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“Arthur…what are you…?”

“Fuck it, nothing, nothing at all.”

Surely it wasn’t, couldn’t be that Arthur…well, he couldn’t kill the hope rising in his chest or the pain unbearable at the thought of being wrong, unwanted.

“Arthur!” he called as Arthur turned to leave. “Don’t go yet.”

“What, Merlin?” Arthur demanded. “Are you actually in love with a woman who treats you like a servant?”

Merlin couldn’t respond. He’d thought at one point that he must love her...or he would eventually. But being with Arthur had turned everything upside down.

“Of course, you don’t have to love her to enjoy the perks of the position,” Arthur said with a sneer. “You’re clearly quite happy here, buried in the lap of that bitch, eating out of her hand.”

Merlin felt his whole body clench with shock and fury. “Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than tramping off with some homeless egotistical wanker,” he retorted, reeling.

Arthur glared at him, jaw tight and trembling. “Yeah, well, now that that’s all clear and open, I’m sorry I even bothered to ask.” He shouldered his bag and went for the door.

“Yeah, well, so am I. You wasted my time too,” Merlin shouted after him. After the door slammed, he pushed his face into his hands again, shaking with emotion.

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

When Morgana emerged, cool and crisp as ever, she found him still slumped there over the counter.

“Good riddance,” she murmured. “That’s why you should never invite prats or vampires into your house. They only create distressing situations.

“You drove him off,” Merlin mumbled from the barrier of his folded arms.

Morgana laughed. “He stomped out after speaking to you,” she reminded him. “But don’t let it get you down. Boys like that are a penny for pound. They drift in and out like dirty leaves. We’ll find another blond idiot to play with, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t,” Merlin said, feeling pain swell in his chest. “I want him.”

Morgana stroked his back. “I know dear. You’re very young and you made an emotional connection with the first bloke who fucked you. Tale as old as time. But you’ll get over it, if you let yourself. Treasure the experience, forget the fool.”

-

Probably, she was right, Merlin thought. How well did he really know Arthur? Just because he was gorgeous and a beast in bed didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a shit boyfriend. If he had gone with Arthur, how long would it have been before they were frustrated, bickering, and at each other’s throats? Poverty was stressful. How long would it be before Arthur went running back to his father and posh society? He certainly wouldn’t take skinny, awkward, foolish Merlin with him to the golden halls of Kensington, or wherever the fuck the Pendragons lived.

Just because he ached every time he thought of the way Arthur looked at him on the train, in the park, and in bed--wonderment and joy and affection bathed in blue--didn’t mean it was real. Anyone would be happy and affectionate when they were getting laid. No, it was safer to forget all that and soak in the benefits he had here with Morgana.

If the nights seemed longer and the days seemed empty and hollow, well, he just had to accept that the glamour had finally worn off the shiny world he inhabited. He reminded himself of the time before: sleepless nights on Gaius’s couch and stressing out over tube fares and eating one-pound-fifty rolls that tasted like sawdust for breakfast. Here in this lavish flat, he had nearly everything, and he would be content. Or nearly so.

-

Just when he needed a distraction, he got a text from Gwen: _ Hey, this is a little awkward to ask, but do you want to go to a charity show? It’s for the children’s hospital. We have an auction and performances! _

Normally Merlin hated fundraisers, mostly because it embarrassed him that he hadn’t a spare pound to give. But now that he was working for Morgana, he’d accumulated a nice bit of savings. And if he _ really _ wanted to help Gwen’s charity, he knew what to do.

He’d thought it might be a chore to convince Morgana to go. After all, she seemed most at home among sophisticated and glittering people. But she just blinked at him slowly and smiled, lounging in her chair. She raised a long purple fingernail to her lips. “That sounds terribly amusing, Ears. Let’s go. But you must tell me what one puts on for such events. The last fundraiser I went to, they closed off the Tate to the public and I wore a semi-transparent Chanel sheathe with gloves. But that might be inappropriate for the children.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “I’m sure we can find something that works.”

The showed up at the event, Morgana in a chic, silky, long romper, and Merlin in slacks and an expensive jumper that Morgana had picked out. They weren’t too out of place among the other attendees who came in different shades of middle-class business casual. 

Gwen greeted them at the door with a big smile. Her curls were tucked back with a floral headscarf and she wore carved wood earrings etched with vines. “Merlin! You brought your...boss? That’s fantastic.”

“Morgana Lefay,” she extended a hand.

Gwen took it with a look of awe, seeming unsure as to whether she should shake it or kiss it. “I’ve seen your work. I can’t believe you’re here!”

“My dear, I’m thrilled to have the pleasure.” She didn’t look particularly thrilled, but she hadn’t cursed or made a cutting comment in the last ten minutes. In fact, he had never seen Morgana so genuinely cordial.

Gwen led them to their table. “The silent auction is over there. Please check it out when you have free time. There’s lots of lovely items. Mrs. Haversford’s embroideries are particularly charming.”

“I’m sure,” Morgana murmured.

Merlin glanced over the program. “You’re performing today?”

Gwen flushed and moved her hands behind her back. “Yeah, just two songs. They wanted everyone to make a contribution and that’s really all I can do.”

“That’s great!” Merlin said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

After Gwen moved on to greet others, he and Morgana went to peruse the items for the silent auction. Morgana made a few cutting comments under her breath about the hand-made pottery and the collection of James Patterson books. She did seem a bit intrigued by the embroidery, though. Merlin would have regulated it the walls of grandmothers with no taste, but Morgana said, “It takes real skill, you know.”

She only picked at the pasta and garlic bread they were served. Merlin gobbled it up. The wine made her wince, but she drank two glasses anyway. By the time they had sat through a poetry reading, a ukelele performance of “Hotel California,” testimonials from the parents of terminally ill children, and a heartfelt video in desperate need of a good editor, they were both grateful when Gwen took the stage and gave a soulful performance of Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good.” Later in the evening, she knocked Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” out of the park. Merlin found himself whooping and clapping until his palms tingled. The wine may have played a part, but even Morgana looked impressed.

When Gwen visited their table again, she reached out and took both of Gwen’s hands in hers. “Have you ever sung professionally, my dear?”

“No,” Gwen said, pink as a posy. “I sing a lot of karaoke.”

“Have you ever done any modeling?”

Gwen laughed.

“I’m serious,” Morgana insisted. “Give me your contact details. I know at least one photographer who needs a new muse. The girls they have in Vogue these days are just embarrassing.”

“Oh, I never could…” Gwen started to say, but Morgana pulled out her phone and started to create a new contact.

“Mobile? Email?”

“She knows talent and art when she sees it,” Merlin assured Gwen.

As they left the building, Merlin added a fifty pound note to the collection box. He didn’t see the amount Morgana wrote on her cheque, but Gwen’s ecstatic text the next day contained no fewer than ten exclamation points, so it must have been sizable.

-

“I didn’t really understand your job before,” Gwen said to Merlin on the phone. “But she is someone who definitely needs looking after, isn’t she? I mean under all the glam and the hard edges, she’s really quite vulnerable.”

“Really?” Merlin was bewildered. “She’s the most capable person I’ve ever met. She knows exactly what she wants all the time.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen sighed. “You have a lot to learn about women.”

-

He was rinsing out coffee mugs in the kitchen of Morgana’s flat when he heard the confident click of her heels. She sashayed in the kitchen, iPad in hand.

“Fascinating news, my darling. You’ll never believe what Arthur is up to now.”

Merlin froze, mug in hand, water pouring from the tap. “What is it?”

“Find out for yourself.” Morgana swung the tablet underarm and tossed it in Merlin’s direction, like a lazy bowler. It seemed to turn in slow motion, end over end. And it was completely out of reach.

Merlin knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t catch it, but he dropped the mug all the same, heard it crash in the sink basin. He flung out his hands for the falling tablet as it descended to the kitchen tile. Then it as though it had hit an invisible trampoline, it leapt upward and into his wet palms.

For a moment, Merlin just stared at the blank screen and his own damp fingers curled around it. Had he hallucinated? Too much caffeine? Too many wirework kung-fu films?

“Merlin,” Morgana purred. “It’s about time.”

“Time for what?” Merlin looked up at her, registering the triumph on her face. “Did you just see that?”

“We have a lot to talk about,” Morgana said. “Would you like the abbreviated version or should I give you a pile of books to study?”

“I’d like to know what you were referring to with Arthur,” Merlin said, voice low. “Or was that just a ploy you made up?

Morgana sighed and shook her head. “You’re really sunk on him, aren’t you? Well, read the ridiculous tabloid story, then maybe we can talk about your latent supernatural powers.”

She unlocked the screen and a celebrity magazine article appears. The blond woman on the front looked vaguely familiar, but Merlin had to read the headline to remember who she actually was. “Sophie Allane spotted cosying up to fit waiter.” And there was Arthur, smaller and not as crisp in a following photo, standing near the actress. Her hand was clearly curled around his shoulder as he leaned down to speak to her and both of them looked on the verge of a laugh.

“Have you got the gist of it?” Morgana muttered. “Arthur shagging another pretty airhead. Maybe she’ll give him the money and influence he so badly needs right now.”

“Be quiet,” Merlin said. He skimmed through the rest of the brief text: _ Beloved star of _ Herrington Place _ , Sophie Allane, seemed to be enjoying her meal at Sweet Potato Kitchen an excessive amount, due to the attentions of a certain handsome young staff member. Witnesses report that they chatted lengthily throughout the meal and took selfies together on her phone. It was also clear that they exchanged mobile numbers. Will we be seeing this hunky swain in Ms. Sophie’s life in the future? Her breakup with co-star Gwaine Brown in August left us all hoping for her to find happiness once again. _

“Now are you finished?” Morgana demanded. “It’s hardly a shocking revelation. Arthur’s been tupping facile rich girls his entire life. Can we please move on?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He was numb, stupid with disappointment. What had he expected anyway? “I’m finished.”

-

Everyone said that Morgana had a sixth sense, a certain ability to sniff out success. She told Merlin that her perception extended beyond the typical range and she often had prophetic dreams. She could pick up certain aspects of the future and “energies” of objects and images. Some things just “clicked” in place in her mind when she touched them or saw them for the first time.

“I told you you were special, do you remember? I could see the energy moving inside you, flashing out when you caught yourself to avoid a fall. I knew you had tremendous power if you could unlock it.”

Merlin cocked his head, uncertain. “I have telekinesis? Is that what it is?”

“I suspect much more.” Morgana folded her hands in front of her. “Did you see what happened to the fern on my bookcase? The ivy on the mantel? I came back from my retreat to find you and Arthur guilty as thieves and my houseplants three times their size. The ivy is practically covering the wall now.”

Merlin had noticed, but he’d thought it was one of those fast-growing jungle varieties or some such. “That was me?”

“It certainly wasn’t the plant food.”

Merlin frowned. “I’ve never had any powers before. Is this something you triggered?”

Morgana shook her head. “I suspect it’s been mostly inactive. Maybe there were incidents that you dismissed or made excuses for. But it’s always been there.”

Merlin thought back to the times he had somehow moved his bed across the room in the middle of the night, and how his mum’s garden always seemed to grow faster than any other in the village. When he was ten he’d fallen out of a tall cherry tree and the ground had seemed to float up to him instead of rushing. He hadn’t a single broken bone or bruise. He’d always had a knack for fires too. They lit easily and burned happily whenever he was around. It was the only thing that had saved him in Scouts.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” he asked Morgana.

“Whatever the bloody hell you like,” she said flippantly. “Just kindly let me know if you have any schemes for taking over the world. I’m quite skilled at things like that.”

-

Despite himself, Merlin found his fingers typing “Sophie Allane” into the search bar of his browser. She didn’t have much of a filmography, but her current soapy drama had a strong following. He flipped past a few fansites and found her social media account. She posted a lot of photos of beautiful people and beautiful food. A few posts down, he found himself staring at Arthur’s blue eyes and heart-melting smile. His face was close to Sophie’s, the edges of their hair touching. They looked like the perfect Aryan-blonde couple, a pair of genetic-lottery winners who should be on the front of all magazines.

_ Met this sweet bloke at Sweet Potato Kitchen #sweetpotato-quionaheaven! _

_ Guys, he is a totally brill photographer and writer. Check out his fabulous work _ _ here _ _ ! _

After stewing in self-pity for a while, Merlin clicked the link and found the photo blog that Arthur had never told him about. He’d revealed it to a random bird he met at a cafe, but he couldn’t mention it to Merlin?

There was the photo of the mobile vendor that had won him the honorable mention. Accompanying it was the story of the man’s life, his immigration from Morocco, his sons at university. There was a photo of a girl on a unicycle with her little white dog on a rainbow leash; picture of a worn statue of a man with a sword and a brief history of its origin; photos of people at a food festival carrying steaming dishes and taking photos with their phones; a pair of cats curled up in an empty box by a rubbish bin.

There was the photo he’d taken in Green Park and Arthur’s voice: _ You can forget about London here, stretched out on the grass under the white-blue sky. The trees are empty, the grass is cold and dry, but life is everywhere. The joggers and dog walkers circle and stream by but we are alone here, lying on the rough winter lawn and I’m not cold at all. _

And on and on with faces and scenes and short, gentle observations. Some were not as clear. There was a photo of a man’s hands. Arthur’s hands, Merlin knew, from the scar on his index finger where he’d burned it on an oven. _ I can do everything and nothing. I still don’t know what my purpose is. I only know I want to build something useful and meaningful before I die. _

And then, further down, a photo of Merlin, at least the back of his head and a sliver of his profile. He caught his breath. The picture was dark, but the pale curve of his neck was emphasized, and the edge of his shoulder. He looked sad, unaware, and arty in the way that photographer’s models often were. There was another picture featuring his legs in tracksuit bottoms, stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He had penguins on his socks. Merlin felt his face heat with shame and a little delight. Another picture showed his back and shoulders and his tilted-up head as he lounged in the grass at the park. None of them had enough of his face to identify him, but if you knew Merlin, they were unmistakable.

The photostory was titled “Falling” and Arthur wrote, _ Regrets are useless, but there’s still something bittersweet about remembering what I lost. It’s a daily torture to think of what might have been. Yet, when I imagine how things could have gone differently, if I wasn’t so low, if I hadn’t wanted so much more than I deserved, it’s a beautiful fantasy. I want to be a better person, so next time when I meet someone like him, I might have a chance. _

Merlin read the text twenty-seven times. Then he studied the photos again. Then he read Arthur’s words again. He was burning hot and cold. Every nerve in his body zipped and sang. He wanted to dance around the flat. Arthur had pined for him! Like a woman in a Jane Austen novel!

But…

That post was a few weeks ago, just after Arthur had stormed out of the flat. All Merlin had to do was hit the back button to find the picture of Arthur with Sophie again, so happy and golden. If Merlin had ever had a chance, he’d probably lost it. How could he compete with Ms. Herrington Place? If Arthur had fallen far, he’d found his way back to high society easily enough. Suddenly he was out of reach again.

-

“Do you need me today?” he asked Morgana, as he poured her coffee.

“It’s your day off,” Morgana said, squinting at him. “And I’m not working, just meeting Gwen for lunch.”

“Again?” Merlin said. “Are you trying to get her to model? Because I don’t think she’d like that very much.”

“Ears, there’s a difference between those anorexic deer-women who model baggy dresses for slathering photographers and the regal muses for artists who just need the right person to inspire their work. Gwen is the ideal muse, for someone, I’m sure.”

“For you?” Merlin queried, suddenly struck by the idea.

“I’m not an artist,” Morgana said, setting down her toast with ginger-passionfruit jam. “I’m a consultant.”

“Everyone needs inspiration,” Merlin said. “Speaking of such, have you looked at the link I sent you?”

“Some puerile blog from a mate of yours? What would I ever do about that?” She took a long drink from her mug.

“It’s Arthur,” Merlin said. “I think you’ll find it rather good.”

“Hmmm.” She picked up her smartphone and swiped at it for a few moments. “Not terrible, but still embarrassingly sincere. He never did have a knack for artistic distance.”

“I think it’s inspiring,” Merlin said, watching her scroll down. “He’s obviously got talent and now the world can see.”

“I have no doubt Ms. Allane has already improved his prospects,” Morgana murmured. Then she stopped and frowned at stared intently at the screen. “Is that you?”

Merlin swallowed.

“Well, well. It seems he had more of an attachment than I suspected. I’ve never known Arthur to care much about anyone besides himself.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, looking at Merlin. “Seems you made quite the impression on my foolish not-brother.”

“Well, I’m no television star,” Merlin mumbled. “It’s a bit too late to go running into his arms now.”

Morgana raked him with her gaze for a long moment. “You know well that I am not given to pointless sentiment, Merlin. But I can’t endure the thought you moping about for ages, pretending all is well. It depresses me.”

“What are you saying?” Merlin demanded. “You want me to leave?” His head was spinning. “You don’t need me?”

“When have I ever needed you?” Morgana scoffed. “You amused me and you have a talent for remembering my routines and how I like my coffee. I thought I’d enjoy exploring your special abilities, but frankly, it’s not as exciting as I imagined. Especially since they tend to emerge most powerfully around Arthur.”

“Er, can I get two weeks to find another position?” Merlin said, heart racing.

“Darling, take as long as you need, but I suspect Gwen will be moving in soon, so start clearing out your kit, will you? Ugh, it’s ghastly to think of what you’re throwing away so blithely. I suppose you two idiots deserve each other, after all.”

-

He rang up Will and asked if his spare cot was available.

“Sorry, brother. Some bloke’s staying with me now.”

“Who?”

“Just someone you wouldn’t know.” A trailing pause at the end that made Merlin’s brows knit together with suspicion.

“Well, when’s he leaving?”

“Uh, not sure. Maybe not for a while. Trying to get on his feet again.”

“Will, are you having me on? I know your guilty voice.”

“Nah, never, Merlin. Just trying to respect his wishes.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “It’s Arthur, isn’t it?”

Will sighed. “Yeah, he didn’t want me blabbing about it. He just needed a place to chill until he found other accommodation. But he’s got a decent job at some fancy restaurant, so he’s been contributing to the rent. And he met a telly star who’s helped promote his photography. His site has so many hits now! Oh...that’s another thing I wasn’t supposed to tell you about.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. “Did Arthur instruct you keep everything a secret from me? What does he think I’ll do? Stalk him?”

“No, no, mate,” Will protested. “He’s just embarrassed and depressed. When he first came here he was all in pieces, a right bloody mess. I thought he’d never stop brooding. But since he’s started working regularly, things seem to be looking up. Dunno why he needs to take so many pictures, though.”

“All right,” Merlin said softly. “Thanks for putting him up, Will. I guess he won’t be there long if he’s busy rubbing elbows with stars now. He’ll probably move in with Sophie Allane by the end of the month.”

“Oi, that’d be choice,” Will said with longing. “Wish I could get me a nice sugar momma.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Will.”

-

He met Gwen at the Pret near her flat for advice and venting. He had the lentil soup and a bacon sandwich. Gwen just got a coffee.

“I’ve got to save up my coins. Your boss has invited me to finish the spring fashion shows in Paris, but I’ve not sure I can afford it.”

“Don’t bother,” Merlin said with a wave of his spoon. “She’ll cover everything.”

“I couldn’t…” Gwen started to say.

“This is Morgana’s way of showing she likes you and it makes her feel like she is in control,” Merlin declared. “Now, how about half of my sandwich?”

“I only eat vegan,” Gwen said apologetically.

“Of course you do,” Merlin muttered. “Well, the soup is quite nice too.” He pushed it across to Gwen. “I can’t wait to see what Morgana will make of you. She’s never met a soul she couldn’t corrupt. Perhaps you will be the first.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Gwen protested. “She’s a lovely person. I’m sure she has her issues and quirks like everyone else, but she’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Perhaps because you have nothing to improve on, no weaknesses to exploit? Instead of finding you boring, she finds you utterly fascinating, somehow.”

“Merlin, don’t be so dramatic,” Gwen scolded. “Morgana is a perfect peach.” She took a spoonful of the lentils. “Now, wasn’t there something you wanted to rant and rave to me about?”

Merlin leaned forward. “You know how Arthur stormed out weeks ago?”

“You didn’t want to talk about it much. I gather you both said some things you regret.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, shoulders slumping. “We both lost our tempers and lost our chance to be...to do anything together, I suppose. I wanted to forget about him after that, but he’s popped up again, unexpectedly.”

“Where?”

“Have you heard of that cow, Sophie Allane?” Merlin asked, the name rankling like poison in his mouth.

“The actor? She’s quite pretty,” Gwen said.

That was the problem with Gwen. She was too good, too kind and honest. Trust him to find a nice friend who wouldn’t support his toxic self-pity, blast it. “Well, she was photographed with Arthur and it looks like they might be an item now.”

“Looks like? Have you talked to him about it? You know how the tabloids gossip.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Did he say that? Did you even try?”

“Gwen, I’m miserable here,” Merlin moaned. “I have horrible, aching, deep feelings for this blond imbecile, who might have felt the same once, but now he’s returning to higher ground on the arm of a gorgeous celebrity. What the bloody hell am I supposed to say?”

Gwen put a soft, warm hand on his. She had a ring with a silver cat curling its tail around her finger. “It’s not easy to men to be vulnerable, I know. But would you rather have your pride intact and stay muddled in misery or take a chance at happiness, as scary and embarrassing as it might be? At least you’ll know for sure and get some closure.”

“Closure is overrated,” Merlin complained, knowing she was right. “If he laughs in my face, I will drown in misery.”

“You’ll be alright, Ears,” Gwen said soothingly.

“Ugh, you’ve been spending too much time with Morgana,” Merlin grumbled.

“That’s not possible,” Gwen said, smiling. “I’d be happy to meet her every day, if I could. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

“I have a feeling you will get your fill soon,” Merlin said. “I’ve just been sacked and you are at the top of the list.”

Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Merlin! What happened?”

“It was time for me to leave,” Merlin said, feeling the truth in the words. “I’ve got to try something else. I don’t know exactly what yet. But it turns out I’ve got some extra abilities that I never realized. And you’ll be perfect for Morgana in every way I never could. It’s high time I found what is perfect for me.”

-

The Sweet Potato Kitchen sounded unassuming, but it had clearly been styled to look more rustic than the clientele A glance at the prices on the menu framed and posted outside told Merlin that he’d need to go back to living on stale rolls after he ate here.

Merlin took deep breaths trying to calm his racing heart and stop the trembling in his hands. Finally, he entered and spoke with a spritely young woman with horn-rimmed glasses who directed him upstairs.

Arthur was mopping the floor, protected by a collection of yellow warning signs letting everyone know the laminate was, indeed, wet. He wore a thin black shirt and black trousers with a waist apron. The muscles in his arms tightened as he moved the mop. He looked breathtaking, as always. Merlin imagined confident Sophie Allane seeing him like this: backlit by the sun low in the sky, shining through the window. Maybe at first she’d only see that perfect body, symmetrical face, and clear blue eyes. But when he smiled, she’d see his crooked tooth, the crinkles around his eyes. She’d be charmed and entranced and long for a moment with him. Merlin had his moment once, but it had fallen through his fingers.

He couldn’t say anything, just stood there watching Arthur push the mop under tables and chairs with a soft hiss of friction. When Arthur finally looked his way, pushed his fringe out of his eyes, and drew in a fast breath, Merlin felt stuck to the floor, pierced by his gaze.

“Hey,” Merlin croaked. “Is it weird that I came here to see you? Of course, it’s weird. I just saw your pictures online. They’re really incredible. But you know that. I just wanted to see...I just wanted to say…”

His chest was contracted so tight, he couldn’t get the breath to form more words.

“You saw what I wrote?” Arthur said softly. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it. I’ll take it down, if you like.”

“No,” Merlin wheezed. “It’s...it made me very happy.”

“Yeah?” Arthur said, beaming that wide smile that made Merlin weak and fuzzy.

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer you properly that night. I didn’t really believe that you might actually want me...to stay with you.”

“Christ, Merlin, I’m the one that should be apologizing. I was such a possessive, angry arsehole. You’ve got no reason to fancy me at all. I keep thinking, why the hell would be want to be with me instead of Morgana? We’re both arrogant cunts, but she has the world and I have nothing.”

“I’m not with Morgana anymore,” Merlin said. “She sacked me. Or I quit? Whatever the case, I’m the jobless, needy fool now. I’m the one who’s fallen in the world. I’m the one who has nothing.”

Arthur leaned the mop against the table and went to Merlin, where he stood at the top of the stairs. “You’ve got those cheekbones and that ass. I wouldn’t call it nothing.”

“Well, compared to Sophie Allane…”

Arthur laughed. “Is that how you found me? I thought Will had revealed me.”

“Well, he did, but I saw you in the article first. I thought maybe you’d be paling around with the rich and famous by now.”

Arthur snorted. “Meeting a celebrity doesn’t mean we’re an item, or even friends. Sophie’s been nice enough to promote my work a bit, and gave me some contacts. But I’m hardly an overnight sensation. I got some opportunities, yeah, but I still have to work here to make a living.”

“So...you’re not dating her?”

“Merlin,” Arthur chuckled. “I love to see you jealous. Is that a bad thing? Makes me feel like you might actually care.”

“I do,” Merlin said, swallowing hard. “I really do care, quite a bit.”

Arthur lifted his hands to Merlin’s shoulders, then moved them up his neck to cup his head at the jaw, thumbs brushing over his ears. “So do I,” he said, voice soft and hoarse. “More than I ought to, probably.”

“Good,” Merlin said, falling into his brilliant eyes. “Don’t do anything by halves.”

“Never,” Arthur breathed, and kissed him at last. Merlin’s eyes shut and he savored the soft heat of Arthur’s mouth, the brush of his nose against Merlin’s the gentle prickle of his blond stubble. He pushed closer to Arthur, aligning their bodies, sliding his hands up Arthur’s sides to hook under his arms and hold tight to his shoulders. Arthur tilted his head and kissed him harder, fingers deep in Merlin’s hair.

A shout from below startled Merlin out of the cocoon of pleasure he’d sunk into.

“Arthur, are you finished up there yet?”

Merlin yanked free of Arthur’s embrace, thinking he was about to get Arthur fired for snogging on the job.

As he leapt back, his heel slipped on the wet floor and he tumbled backward, over the first step and down the stairs. He could feel his body gradually falling down and down toward the hard edges of the steps. He could see Arthur’s terrified face above him, hands reaching futilely to grab him. Then he simply pulled himself up, like a gymnast defying the laws of nature. His body straightened, his feet sailed back to the top step, and he landed squarely in Arthur’s outstretched arms.

Arthur held him tightly, shaking and breathing hard. “What the fuck, Merlin? What the fuck?”

Merlin himself felt fantastic, but a bit embarrassed. He hoped no there was no shell-shocked employee standing at the bottom of the stairs, ready to rush off with a story for News of the World.

“Well, I’m a bit...um, magical?” he said into Arthur’s shoulder. Tingles and shocks ran over his skin, effervescent bubbles floating and popping throughout his body.

Arthur laughed unevenly, pulled back enough to look at Merlin’s face incredulously. “Of course, you are. Why wouldn’t you be? Christ, I thought you were about to crack your head open right in front of me. Or break every bone in your body. These “Wet Floor” signs are here for a reason, you know.”

“To avoid lawsuits?” Merlin guessed. He turned his head for a quick glance down the stairs. No gaping staff there.

“I’m about to take you to court for nearly giving me a heart attack,” Arthur said. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

“I’m a bit prone to falls, but I always catch myself,” Merlin said. “No need to worry.”

“As long as you catch me too.” Arthur grinned at him. “I suppose it was you that saved me from the speeding motorbike.”

“I can be your hero, baby,” Merlin said with a smirk.

Arthur pulled him close again. “Yeah,” he said.

Another shout from below. “Arthur, how long does it take to finish mopping? Are you faffing about on your mobile?”

“Fly me away,” Arthur murmured.

“I’m not that kind of hero,” Merlin said, chuckling.

“Rubbish. What kind of hero are you then?”

“The kind that brings your favorite chips on your lunch break and records your footie games for you, and pretends that your uni stories are not embellished at all.”

“All right, then,” Arthur acquiesced. “Do you have a superhero catch phrase?”

"Maybe something like, ‘Gravity’s my bitch.’ I’d look pretty cool saying that.”

“Oh Merlin,” Arthur was shaking with laughter, his eyes squinted nearly closed. “I can’t think why I love you this much.”

On the tables, silverware sets were spinning in their swaddling of napkins. Arthur’s mop danced by itself, swaying across the floor. And in the planter boxes outside the window, the miniature roses were bursting into bloom like little pink supernovas, heedless of the winter chill.


End file.
